


Hath No Fury

by ardentmuse



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Baratheon Reader, Courtship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, House Baratheon, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre - Robert's Rebellion, Pre-Canon, Reader-Insert, Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, The Eyrie (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:29:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22187875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentmuse/pseuds/ardentmuse
Summary: When Y/N Baratheon travels with her father to visit her brother Robert in the Eyrie, she expects a happy reunion. She doesn’t expect to be offered up as bride number three to the aging Lord Arryn as payment for his years keeping Robert as ward. But thankfully, or rather more difficultly, her  future betrothed has another ward to comfort her, and claim her heart as his own.Series will follow the events of the books pre and through Robert’s Rebellion, answering what if the Baratheons had a daughter to play the game, and what if Ned Stark found his love long before the war began. Get ready for what is going to be an emotional, love-filled, sexy, gut-wrenchingly romantic saga into pre-canon.
Relationships: Ned Stark/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Hath No Fury

Part 1 – A Visit to the Vale - 278 AC  
The road from Gulltown to the Eyrie is much less mountainous than you had envisioned from your brother Robert’s letters. He had described the Vale as an impenetrable land with rocks and cliffs for as far as the eye could see. But now, sitting in your carriage alongside your father, trotting along through the crisp green valley that spread out towards Iron Oaks, you can say this place was downright pleasant. You have a few books and the company of your lord father to keep you entertained as you travel the several days into the mountains to reunite with your older brother. Robert’s position as ward of Jon Arryn has grown him into one of the fiercest fighters Westeros would come to know, that is if Robert’s own musings on the matter could be trusted.

When you begin the mountain ascent, you start to see Robert’s way of thinking. The mountains are treacherous but your father entertains you with tales of his time at court, the fineries and the foods, the fools and the fancies. Your father had his own carriage but he is a man who prides himself in his relationship with his children, and, being the only daughter, he often seeks moments to enjoy your company.

By the time the stark white towers of the Eyrie come into view, shooting up into the sky like paths to the heavens, you are ready to rid yourself of your travel clothes, stop the incessant bouncing the wheels and rocks cause and find some stable footing. And pulling up to the gate where a tall, broad young man with your brother’s face stands beaming makes you the happiest you have been in many moons.

Robert wants to run forward but an older man with a long face and short blond hair whom you assumed was Lord Arryn places a hand on his shoulder. Your brother collects himself, cupping his hands like the proper lord he would be someday. And beside them both still stands a quiet, rugged boy whose piercing grey eyes find yours through the windows of your carriage.

Your lord father exits and offers you his hand. You take a gulp, not sure where the nerves are coming from. You aren’t the kind of lady to concern herself with appearances but suddenly your simple grey silk travel dress seems all wrong on you. Your palms grow sweaty as you feel the handsome young man with the kind eyes staring at you.

You take careful steps forward until you are bowing before the lord who would be hosting you for the next two moons. Your father still holds your fingers in his own as you stand.

“Lord Arryn, good to see you once again. It’s been too long.”

“Too long indeed, my dear friend,” the older man’s toothy grin is pleasant if not for the handful of missing teeth.

“And let me introduce you to my daughter, Y/N Baratheon.”

Your father passes your hand over to the older man who clasps it in both of his.

“My lady, I am charmed.” He has a sweet voice and kind eyes. You understand why Robert sees him as a father to him.

“Your lands are beautiful, my Lord. Breathtaking.”

The old man simply beams, squeezing your fingers a little tighter.

“You have no idea how much it warms me to hear you say that. And let me introduce you to my household, which at the moment consists of only your brother and the young Eddard Stark.”

He turns you to the Stark boy, one who Robert has told you about time and time again, his best friend and brother even more than Stannis and the baby Renly. But what your brother had failed to prepare you for was just how cute the man’s pouty lips were or how silky his dark hair or how his smile could set embers ablaze once more.

“My lady,” says the young lad, his voice a little gruffer than you expect for a boy of six and ten but it carves its way into your soul like the sword he wears strapped to his hip, one you have no doubt given his broad shoulders and muscled forearms, he knows just how to swing.

He bows deeply, his eyes on the ground before he looks up to meet your gaze, as if waiting for invitation to stop worshipping at your feet. And then he does the one thing that could make your heart do flips. With his head still down low, looking at you through his lashes, he smirks — a single twitch of his lip, like a bit of mischief just for the two of you — and all of a sudden you know that nervousness you were feeling when exiting your coach will not be leaving you any time soon.

And so, you offer him your hand. One he takes and kisses without even a hesitation.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Lady Y/N. Robert has sung often of your grace and your wit but he seems to have failed to mention your beauty as well,” he says, quiet enough that Robert, who is currently in a bear hug with your father like only the two of them can give, can not hear. For a boy that Robert has often called shy and thick in the matters of women, he seems to be doing quite well at winning you over. And honestly, it fills you with pride that maybe this sweet and somber man might find a soft spot in you.

Your brother’s arms around your shoulder pull you away from Eddard. Robert engulfs you against him, squeezing you into his chest.

“Gods, these formal greetings are bloody dull,” he roars. “I’ve missed you.”

And soon you are up in his arms, a foot off the ground.

“Let me get a good look at you!” Robert calls as he inspected you high above him. It is hard not to fall into a fit of giggles, “My darling sister. My, you’ve grown.”

“I can say the same for you. These muscles couldn’t quite get me off the ground last time,” you laugh.

“Not my fault you flowered so young.”

You feel your face completely flush as he places you back on the ground. The last thing you want is your brother’s best friend to know all about your first blood and the curves, the inches, and the weight that came with it.

But the talk of you flowering would be much of the discussion of this trip. Little did Robert know, your father’s hesitation in matching you off with a respectable noble family has much to do with his oldest son. This trip is to secure that Robert is fit to lead as Lord Baratheon someday, to decide if marrying you off to secure ties within your own lands is necessary or if your father could think about strengthening bonds with the other noble families. And that thought has you excited. The Martells have a son — handsome and strong if the rumors are true — in need of a bride, not to mention your cousin Rhaegar has already inquired about your hand, which might even make you queen someday. And within your own lands, you have danced with many a lovely suitor. You are hoping if things go that way that your father might choose Jon Connington, who has just been knighted and always says the sweetest things, but you’ll settle a Penrose or Rogers if necessary. 

But that talk would be for later. Instead, Lord Arryn leads you off to the Maiden’s Tower with gorgeous views out to the east, over the valley towards the waters that led to home. A few handmaidens from local houses help you bath and as you wash the rosewater through your hair, you think more about whom your father might see you fit to marry, and if that man would set your body on edge the way the second son of Rickard Stark seems to have done in just a matter of minutes.

You pick from among your best dresses — ones your lady mother handpicked for the trip. You consider your light blue silks, given the heat of summer, but decide against it, hoping not to disrespect House Arryn by wearing their colors. Instead you opt for the burgundy gown with the golden leaves embroidered into the bodice that complemented your figure so nicely. Your hair is done in the southern style, showing off your neck and shoulders and though you feel a little exposed, you also feel insanely beautiful.

When the knock on your door comes to escort you to dinner, you expect to see your brother, but instead you find Lord Arryn waiting.

“My lady,” he says, offering you his arm. The host escorting you to dinner is a high compliment, but one that saddened you a little given how much you have missed your older sibling.

You place your hand in the crock of his arm and the old man, pleasant as he is, walks you clumsily down the many spiral stairs towards his dining hall.

To your surprise, he leads you to the seat right to his left, across from the young Lord Eddard and far from your father and Robert, with a smattering of minor lords and ladies filling out the space for a proper fest. Lord Eddard smiles pleasantly at you, lifting his glass as he eyed the collar of your dress.

“Dear Y/N,” Lord Arryn says as the feast began, grabbing your hand in its place on the table, “Your father tells me you are quite well-studied in the accounting of a keep. You’ve been working alongside your mother at Storm’s End, have you not?”

And as the old man smiles at you, holding your fingers in his own, you finally understand a few things about this trip you hadn’t really processed until this very moment. If Robert proves himself in a good place as heir, you will not be going home to the Stormlands at all. There’ll be no big ceremony in King’s Landing where Rhaegar makes you his or a lovely boat trip to the Sunspear to partake in riches of Dorne and of a new husband. No, the noble lord to whom you will be tied is currently without an heir, looking for wife number three to claim her seat at the Eyrie beside him. You are not here as guest but as a thank you gift for Jon Arryn’s work in raising Robert into a proper lord. And suddenly, you don’t want to eat anymore.

You answer Lord Arryn’s questions as nicely and shortly as you could, suppressing the fury growing inside of you. He may be your husband someday soon and you aren’t about to burn down the bridge just for fear of crossing it. Besides, your anger is not with the man who has need of a bride, but rather at your father for offering you up on a platter to a man who could be your grandfather without any consult or forewarning, ignoring perfectly good candidates for the sake of an old friendship.

Across the table though, each time you offer Lord Arryn a pleasant but forced smile, Eddard tried to give you a genuine one, though the sadness in his eyes for you seemed too strong for a man just offering you a little comfort for a sticky situation.

Everyone seemed to know what was happening here but me, you think as you take measured bites of your leaks and game, sipping your wine as an excuse to nod along to another tale about life here in the Vale, one you know is meant to make you see the beauty of the place, but only serves to remind you just how much older than you your future betrothed is.

“Now the late Lady Arryn — the first, not the second — really loved to visit the port cities, simply adored the chaos of the markets. So many riches from the Free Cities find their way to our shores, as I am sure is much the same for your lands, sweetling—”

Your eyes travel to the far end of the table where your Robert sits. You smile at him but he doesn’t smile back, instead his eyes are fierce, rage-filled, as he looks at Lord Arryn.

“Lady Y/N,” Eddard says abruptly, pulling your attention to him. He stretches out his neck and offers you a smile. “Your brother said you’re quite the strong rider. Do you keep your own horses at Storm’s End?”

The smile that grows on your face feels so foreign after all the forced politeness. It is so refreshing to be asked about something that doesn’t have direct barring on your ability to wife, mother, and run a keep. Finally, it feels, someone cares about you as a person.

“Yes, actually. Our lands have quite a vast terrain between forest, valleys and mountain ranges — much like here — so riding is essential. Sometimes it feels like I was born on a horse,” you say, your cheeks flushing a bit at your rambling, and at Eddard’s consistent eye contact as you speak. “I have two palfreys and a destrier in my care, though I’m embarrassed to say more often than not I opt for a pony.”

Eddard laughs, and so does your host whom you honestly forgot was there. Eddard’s entire countenance brightens and you realize just how much more you want to know about the boy who seems completely undisturbed by your less than womanly interests.

“No shame in that. A pony seems the right size for you. Wouldn’t want you falling from too great a height.”

“Might that someone were there to catch me.”

The words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them, a clear flirtation. But honestly, that seems right for you. You aren’t some shy maiden hidden in a tower listening quietly to tales. You are brazen and fiery and a Baratheon true in spirit. You don’t shy away from the things that interest you. And right now, the Stark boy certainly interests you.

You smile up at him from your lashes, your eyes shining in challenge more than display. He blushes furiously and you feel like you’ve won.

But before he can answer that he’d be happy to have you fall into his arms, your host pats your hand.

“My, I had no idea you were so interested in equestrianism!”

You didn’t ask, you think to yourself. You didn’t ask a single thing about me.

But what you say instead is, “I have a wide array of interests. As long as I complete my studies, the rest of my time is mine to use as I see it.”

Your eyes travel once again over to Robert, who is in hushed debate with your father, both with their brows so knitted you are surprised they aren’t already in a proper row.

Your plates are taken away and the musicians take their place to begin their songs. Lord Arryn stands, his mouth opening to speak to you, but before he can get the words out a voice booms behind you.

“A dance, dear sister?”

You look up at your brother who is more red than white at the moment. His words are for you but his rage is for his adopted father.

“I believe it is the host’s right to first dance, is it not? Surely I’ve taught you a thing or two about decorum over the years.”

“And I believe—“ Robert booms, but you grab his forearm, so large now you can hardly wrap your hands around it.

“Lord Arryn here has raised you like a son, Robert. It seems you are host tonight just as much as he is,” you smile sweetly at Lord Arryn, who takes a seat, his blue eyes piercing you.

“You are right, my lady. Who am I to deny a family reunion? But spare a dance for me, will you?”

You nod, but it doesn’t get much traction as Robert practically yanks you out of your chair and onto the dance floor.

Once on the dance floor, Robert’s hand grips tight at your hip as he leads you in your movements.

“Did you have to wear the goddamn lowest cut dress you own?” he hisses.

“Did mom have to pack it for me or dad forget to inform me that I was on the menu? Don’t you dare pass the blame to me here, brother!”

His hand bunches in the linen of your skirts, still fuming.

“I know, I know, but you didn’t exactly help yourself here.”

His words hurt you because you know exactly what he means. Robert is a god among women — tall, chiseled, bold, and virile — and you know exactly how he sees women with a little bit of cleavage, a little too much leg. Your exposed shoulders make you meat, not maiden to him. And it sickens you a little.

But just as he is a maiden’s fantasy, so are you the fulfillment of a lord’s desire in your own right. You dress the way you do because you know you wear it well. Men beg for your dance, stare longingly at your features. You are the gem that adorns the crown of your sigil, the Jewel of the Stormlands as your people call you often, as your parents call you occasionally, and as Robert calls you now.

“Listen to me. I will not have you as my step-mother. I love Lord Arryn. He raised me well and he would be a good husband to you in time, but a beggar does not deserve a jewel and you do not deserve to be locked in a tower for all of your days.”

He stands tall, his eyes scanning the room like he doesn’t want to look at you.

“Speaking from experience?”

“More than you know. I’m bloody ready to run free of here.”

You look back to the high table where your father sits clasping hands with Lord Arryn, both in the most jovial of spirits.

“I don’t think either of us have much say in the matter, I’m afraid.”

The song ends and you feel a tap on your shoulder. If your brother wasn’t pouting before, he was certainly pouting now.

“May I steal a dance with your sister, Rob?” Eddard asks, his voice only a little sheepish at Robert’s examination.

He just huffs.

“Fine, do what you will with her. I need a drink.”

And Robert storms off in true Baratheon spirit, right to the nearest flagon of mead and chugs without mercy.

“He’s in good spirits, it seems,” Eddard says, holding out a hand in invitation, not in demand. Choice is rare for you, and the fact that he sees to your desires at all has your heart racing. You place your fingers in his, feeling the warm tingle that good touch could give you, and slowly he pulls you in towards his chest.

“Thank you, Lord Eddard, for this dance.”

His smoky grey eyes soften to you.

“Please call me Ned.”

Ned. It sounds nice in your head —warm and simple, no stress — just like the man before you.

“Okay, Ned. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Lady Y/N. Though it seems I should be thanking you for honoring my horrible dancing with your graceful steps.”

You giggle a bit. He’s leading fine but he’s definitely stiff.

“None of this lady business if I’m calling you Ned.”

His gaze casts downward.

“Then what would you like me to call you?”

This voice grows husky, raw, and the timbre of it hits you right in your core. Suddenly, this cute boy who makes you nervous and giddy also makes you eager and hot, two sides of a beautifully enticing coin.

“Wh-Whatever you want to call me, really.”

Ned’s hand on your hip slips a little up your back, pulling you closer to him. He smells of honeysuckle and saddle oil, two scents you know well and two scents you’ve grown to love over the years, just never together in such a way. Your bodies are only centimeters apart, just on the line of what is appropriate for such a public display, but no part of you is complaining. In fact, you are on fire.

“I like the sound of your name on my lips, but I like the idea of having something just for us much more.”

His whisper is a purr. You cling to his neck, gripping at his long hair in anticipation. He seems to like it if his smile is any indication.

“Is calling you doe too expected?” he asks, his fingers now drawing the tiniest circles into the leaves of your bodice.

“Do you think of me as a doe?”

“No, you seem fiercer than a doe, but much more nuanced and mannered than the rest of your family. A bubbling fury controlled, just underneath your chest.”

His eyes cast downward to your neckline as he speaks. Immediately he blushes.

“Perhaps I’m more wolf than stag then,” you laugh. “And you seem more a deer than I do.”

“I’m less a stag or a wolf and much more of a bird at this point. The Eyrie consumes you if you let it.”

He spins you once more through the song change, with no concern for the fact that you are now sharing a second song for everyone to see.

“But birds fly free,” you muse.

“How free are any of us to choose our path? Freedom is about how you choose to respond, not the circumstances themselves.”

He smiles at you then and you aren’t sure if he means the words for you or for himself, but they are comforting nonetheless.

You run your hand across his neck as you think, goosebumps rising on his skin at you go. You realize in that instant that you had forgotten about the watchful eyes of your family, of the court. You are safe in this moment in the comforting arms of a boy not unlike yourself, living the life his parents set forth for him, making the best of it as much as he can.

The song ends as you look up at Eddard — Ned — and find his smile soft and his skin pink as he looks at you. Your breath catches in your throat at his dimples just showing on his cheeks.

“I believe I’m owed a dance,” Lord Arryn huffs between you. You startle, pulling apart from the boy who holds you a little too close for the circumstances. His fingers tense in your skirts, but he relents.

“Of course,” Ned says, pulling away from you and opting for you hand. He pulls it up to his lips, your sleeve falling downward to graze his fingers. He kisses your knuckles with the kind of slow reverence you often dreamed from princes and heroes of old.

“Goodnight, my dove,” he whispers so only you can hear. And with that, he slips into the crowd and away, leaving only your thumping heart and earning soul in his wake.


End file.
